Almost Famous
by RanyaRavenclaw
Summary: After accepting the most prestigous task the Dark Lord has ever set, Draco Malfoy finds himself trapped in a situation over which he has no control. Struggling with good and evil, life and death, Draco discovers there are no absolutes in life.
1. Chapter 1: The Task

**The Task**

Narcissa spoke.

"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"

"I will," said Snape.

A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"

"I will," said Snape.

A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, flowing chain.

"And, should it prove necessary…if it seems Draco will fail…" whispered Narcissa (Snape's hand twitched within hers, but he did not draw away), "will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

"I will," said Snape.

Bellatrix's astounded face glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake.

***

Draco watched the large black grandfather clock's twisted second hand slowly circle the skull that demarcated the centre of the clock face. How long had his mother been gone? Though he had been staring unblinkingly at the clock, the minutes seemed to tick away meaninglessly. Lately, he had much on his mind.

Twirling his wand absentmindedly, he pondered the weight of the responsibility that now rested on his shoulders. He alone would be accountable for the moment that would forever change their magical world. The pride he first felt when chosen by the Dark Lord had begun to subside, and was slowly being replaced with a creeping doubt that reached out from the shadows of his subconscious. Like a dementor, the reality of his position swooped down on him; he had been given perhaps the most crucial task the Dark Lord had ever set, a task any Death Eater would kill to perform.

Yet he was uncertain. Although the Dark Lord expressed confidence in him, Draco questioned his motives, a sentiment that was also shared by his mother. Was he simply a pawn, a stand-in for his incompetent father, a mere retaliatory sacrifice? Or was he worth more to the Dark Lord, a capable warrior who was willing to step up, paving the way for the Dark Lord's ultimate plan to come to fruition? While he had not fully convinced himself it was the latter, Draco reluctantly pushed the matter from his mind.

Suddenly, the foyer of the Malfoy manor house was echoing with voices, causing Draco to drop his wand and listen intently. His mother had returned.

"If the Dark Lord finds out, you will beg to be sent to Azkaban to join your worthless husband," chimed Bellatrix as she twirled around her sister, eyes wide with excitement, letting out a peal of laugher.

Taking off her cloak and straightening her long, blonde hair, Narcissa ignored her sister's reproachful taunts. Bellatrix was not a mother; she could not possibly understand.

"Just when the Dark Lord offers you a way to restore the embarrassing damage Lucius caused at the Ministry, you turn your back, begging for help from that greasy traitor," Bellatrix spat, "I would rather die than beg like a common house elf!"

Narcissa froze. She slowly turned toward her sister, her travelling cloak still in hand. "Then perhaps you would be more befitting of the task set to Draco," her eyes narrowed, "But obviously the Dark Lord has deemed you foolish and cowardly, given your failure to procure the prophesy and your hasty retreat from the Ministry. Clearly, you have not proven yourself his faithful servant, or you would have been given this great honour." Before turning her back to her sister, Narcissa watched Bellatrix's face contort with rage.

"I AM THE DARK LORD'S MOST FAITHFUL SERVANT! It was I who searched for him when all others believed him dead! Unyieldingly, I have been at his side! I deserve this task, not your weak, infantile son!" Shrieking, Bellatrix paced the charcoal marble floor with such ferocity that each footfall rivalled a clap of thunder.

Abruptly, Bellatrix wrenched open the heavy ebony door causing Narcissa to halt mid-step, barring her exit from the foyer. Narcissa slowly turned to face her sister, attempting to hide the storm of emotions welling up inside her. Bellatrix glowered, teeth slightly bared.

"However, if Draco miraculously succeeds, perhaps he will be able to lift the Malfoy name from the puddle of disgrace in which it now wallows," Bellatrix hissed. With her voice barely above a whisper, she venomously continued, "If he fails, which I assure you, dear sister, he most certainly will, you will find yourself at the mercy of the Dark Lord, with I as his most devoted servant…and _no one_ to wipe away the tears you cry over your dead son."

The skull-shaped door knocker hammered against the door as Bellatrix heaved it shut behind her, causing the grand emerald chandelier to sway dangerously in protest as she stole off into the damp depression of a late August twilight.

***

Narcissa stood, rooted to the spot, watching the dancing green outline of the chandelier swinging overhead weave Devil's Snare-like patterns over the dark marble floor. Draco, her only son, could not possibly meet his death so prematurely – she would not allow it. All reservation she held regarding her visit to Severus immediately dissolved. She was sure she had made the right choice.

Gathering her thoughts, regaining her composure, and reigning in her wits, Narcissa set off in search of Draco. She did not have to look far. Narcissa found him standing stiffly a few paces from a mahogany table, topped with an assortment of Malfoy family heirlooms that would easily fetch hundreds of galleons from Borgin and Burkes. A healthy fire roared in a handsomely adorned hearth in the Great Room of the manor, but did not warm her.

Draco lifted his blue eyes and gazed at his mother through the mirror that hung above the table. In them, there was both a resolve and a coldness she had never yet observed, and it frightened her. Narcissa attempted to smile, barely able to keep the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes from falling helplessly and regretfully down her paled cheeks. She desperately wanted to run to him, envelop him in her arms, but she was unable to translate her thoughts into actions.

She parted her red lips to speak, but Draco started, "It's about time you returned home." He continued to stare into the mirror, manipulating the mummified body of a Cornish pixie inattentively with his wand. He did not wait for her response. "Where have you been?"

Willing herself to take a step forward, Narcissa replied, "Ensuring my family will not become more tattered and torn than it already is," she fought back a lump that was quickly rising in her throat, "I cannot allow you to leave my care unprotected."

"And just what is that supposed to mean, 'allow me'? I am not a child, mother. I would think that much would be evident given what the Dark Lord has entrusted to me," Draco turned to face Narcissa, his face challenging, "Or do you disagree with him?"

"You are only a boy, Draco!" Narcissa implored, her voice climbing, "You will fail! And I will be left here to pick up the pieces!"

Draco's lips tightened and his wand hand twitched ever so slightly. His voice sated with resentment, he spoke: "You are embarrassing yourself by being so unabashedly selfish. It's rather disgusting really. I have been chosen – by the Dark Lord himself. After my inept father's disgraceful display at the Ministry, I must work that much harder to prove I am worthy of the Dark Lord's attention."

Narcissa appeared stunned as she digested her son's retort. In an attempt to salvage the conversation, she spoke quickly and with fervour.

"Draco, I love you and you are my only son; you must understand my concern for you is not limited to this one task! If you complete what the Dark Lord has asked of you, there is no telling where his requests will end. He cares not for your life Draco! He sees you only as an instrument to be played at will. Please, I beg you Draco; do not follow through – it will only permit him to continue to exploit you!" At this, Narcissa dropped to her knees, tears streaming freely. She frantically searched her son's pale face for any sign of comprehension; any hint that he was capable of empathy. She found none.

Draco stepped forward, approaching his mother unhurriedly, but with purpose. He came to rest just outside of his mother's reach.

"I will be following through with the Dark Lord's task. There is nothing you can do – or say – that will prevent me from attaining the praise I deserve. And if you truly wanted to be helpful, you would mind your own business. This is between me and the Dark Lord." Draco looked down at his mother with a look of contempt that she had never seen, not even from her own sister. He started to walk away, but Narcissa hastily reached for his hand.

"If you choose to follow the Dark Lord, Draco, I can no longer protect you," she muttered, tears brazenly rolling down her cheeks, "I have done the only thing in my power left to do; beg for your protection. Severus has agreed to watch over you and carry out the task should you fail." Eyes closed, Narcissa drew her son's hand to her tear-stained cheek. Like he had just touched a scalding hot cauldron, Draco jerked it away.

"You did _what_? You begged him for my protection?" Draco let out a bark of disbelief. Disdain dripping from every word, he continued, "I should have known you would. Have you no _pride_?" Draco felt no compassion toward his mother as he strode away from her, leaving her weeping on the cool, unforgiving marble.

Covering her eyes, Narcissa could not bear to watch her only child walk away from her and into the gripping and merciless arms of his fate.

At the foot of the stairs, Draco turned once more to face his mother, unfeeling eyes falling on her body doubled over in grief.

"You have not done what I expected of a mother in your situation; you have continued to express confidence in my failure rather than my success." As he began up the grand staircase, he added, "You are not my mother. _My_ mother would be proud to offer her only son into the service of the Dark Lord."

Narcissa had wept, alone, until the fire – along with her hope and resolve – had died. The tears she shed for her dead son came much sooner than even Bellatrix had expected.


	2. Chapter 2: Yes and No

**Yes and No**

Braving the darkness the heavy, velvet curtains defended, pale spectres danced to and fro on the gloomy walls, seemingly disconnected from the streetlamps from which they were descended. Not taking any notice, Draco effortlessly closed the door. Resting his blond head rather heavily against the pane of sturdy wood, he had entered what should have been his sanctuary. Draco closed his eyes. Behind them, images of his mother weeping totally and honestly swam languidly. He snorted with disgust.

Eyelids snapping open, Draco strode to his desk, being careful to skirt the large bed draped in luxurious emerald green fabric, which had remained unkempt since early the previous evening. Having ordered the house elf Lackey from his room, and henceforth forbidding the creature's entry, Draco was guaranteed the privacy he needed and felt he deserved.

The spark and hiss of the match stung his eyes and pricked his ears as Draco lit the oil lamp perched on the corner of his writing table. The light scarcely made change in the large room and failed to penetrate the dark nooks and crannies, saving a spider scuttling from the safety of its web. Taking in the scent of the expired match and the stale must of old parchment outlining portions of Malfoy lineage that hung haphazardly on the walls, Draco sat.

How dare his mother insist upon such a display of selfish weakness when he had been chosen? In a short time, he would be embarking on a task that would show more character and merit than any Death Eater had ever displayed. His mother could not understand how important this task – and the status and power inherent to it – was to him and his future. How could she? Not once in her inconsequential life had she ever been entrusted with such a responsibility as he was now.

Unexpectedly, Draco's persisting uncertainties once again surfaced. As with each preceding instance of the same, he was not fully prepared to combat such nagging and pessimistic thoughts.

How was he to come up with a plan that would successfully and single-handedly fell one of the greatest wizards of all time? What was the Dark Lord playing at? He was not a child as his mother so fervently maintained, but was he _man_ enough to accomplish the Dark Lord's bidding, given the burden it required and the finality it demanded? Would he be strong enough? A thin wave of confidence washed over him. Yes, he told himself. Yes.

However, he first needed a plan. Though an architect of unimaginable horrors, the Dark Lord had not offered Draco a draft of what was to occur, but simply presented the task; plainly and without embellishment. In the end, all that mattered was that the thorn in the Dark Lord's side be removed – no matter the means – to make possible Potter's demise.

To his relief, the Dark Lord had yet to register Draco's progress. Armed with the Dark Lord's limited instructions, Draco ascertained he would be unable to commence the task until back at Hogwarts. However, the first of September was approaching at the speed of a scorned centaur, and he only had scarcely a week before he boarded the Hogwarts Express. And then, the Dark Lord would expect results.

His legs, appearing to act on their own accord, forced Draco to stand. Palms wet with perspiration, he began to pace.

What if he was unable to deliver? What punishment would await him for failing to eliminate the last standing threat to the Dark Lord's much-anticipated return to power? Having heard his father speak of those who had failed the Dark Lord, an uncontrollable chill slithered down his spine. What would be the price to pay for his errors, his inadequacies and his uncertainty?

The manor house creaked in response to the touch of the clammy hands of a gusty wind wrapping itself around the stone exterior. A slight rustle of drapery went unnoticed by the blond haired young man now unmoving in the centre of the room. Beating rapidly, Draco's heart pumped oxygenated blood from his heart to his extremities, carrying with it immeasurable fear and a grave realization.

His _life_ would be the price to pay for failure.

***

The sun broke through the crack in the window hangings and stole across the large ornate rug embroidered with serpents of various shapes and sizes. Yet the form in the bed remained still. Light, irregular footsteps could be heard pacing just beyond the door, low mutterings expressing apprehension and fear. A loud snore erupted from the figure buried in the bedding causing the footsteps to cease and a yelp to escape the hallway prowler.

"Oh I should wake my master, yes I should. I was told to wake him by my mistress," the house elf mumbled to himself, "but master told me to not go in, he told me." The house elf known as Lackey wrung his small, calloused hands in timid frustration. His tiny body began to tremble involuntarily as he considered the punishment for disobeying – sleeping on a bed of broken glass – but he could figure no way to avoid it.

"Mistress said wake up young master, no matter what it took Lackey, but he is told by young master that he would be forced to sleep in master's writing desk drawer for a week if Lackey entered master's room," the house elf shuddered violently at the thought, causing the plastic potting soil bag he wore as a smock to rustle loudly, "but Lackey hates small, dark spaces, he does, oh he does…" The house elf could no longer contain his anxiety; he collapsed and began to wail loudly.

Marching down the long, lavishly carpeted hallway decorated ostentatiously with heads of deceased house elves, Narcissa's eyes found Lackey rolled into a ball, whimpering. Within seconds, she towered over him, blue eyes like daggers.

"Be quiet you filthy little snot rag," Narcissa hissed, "have you not awakened Draco? A pile of broken wands would be more useful than you. Oh, stop your wailing; if I wanted to listen to a racket like that I would pull the tail feathers out of an owl." Adjusting her elaborate necklace, Narcissa straightened up and rapped forcefully on the door facing her.

"Get up, Draco. Immediately. I do not have time for your childish dillydallying today. I have numerous errands to run in Diagon Alley, including purchasing your school things, and I will not have you lagging behind." She followed her firm command with another swift knock on the door.

"As for you," Narcissa breathed, glaring down at the house elf, "you will prepare our travelling cloaks. Then, you will polish every heirloom and surface in this house until you can see your repulsive little face in them. You will not rest, but begin the process over again until I command you otherwise. Do I make myself clear?" Disdainfully, she waited for a reply.

"Yes mistress, Lackey will do as he is told by his mistress. He will polish and polish until his fingers ache and bleed, this he promises his mistress," Lackey replied and bowed deeply. As the house elf shuffled away, Narcissa took no notice of his limp. Only when he tripped on a small tear in the carpet did she look up.

"If Lackey does not move more swiftly, he will find himself going without food…again." Narcissa voiced, almost melodically. With a squeal, the house elf picked himself up and hurried down the stairs, rubbing his crippled leg gingerly.

Smirking, Narcissa deliberately followed the small creature down the grand staircase. Adorned with several large bejewelled rings, her pale hand traced the delicately carved banister until it came to rest upon the elaborate head of a serpent at the foot of the stairs. Pausing for a moment, her fingers wound around the tangle of gems and precious metal about her slender neck.

She had an owl to send.

***

Draco swung his legs lazily over the side of his generous bed. Burying his toes in the thick rug, he contemplated the previous night's thoughts.

The Dark Lord had chosen him, and he smiled in spite of himself. He would show those who did not have faith in his talents, his determination, that he was worthy.

No, he assured himself, he would not fail. He revelled in the image of being rewarded above all others, above his father, above his aunt, above _Snape_.

Satisfied and confident, he stood up. Stretching his arms above his head, Draco let out a prolonged yawn. He rubbed his eyes. It did nothing to combat the fog of exhaustion still enveloping him.

"I wouldn't be so tired if it wasn't for that wretched house elf hobbling around mumbling to itself all hours of the night", Draco muttered as he approached the pewter-framed mirror hung above his writing desk.

"I should lock that pathetic animal in my desk drawer like I have been threatening to do, that'd be good for a laugh", chuckling, he added, "maybe if I kept it in there for a few days it would just disappear."

Smirking, he made for his wardrobe. Opening the doors, he perused his clothing, settling on a handsome set of navy blue robes. In the midst of reaching out, Draco's arm suddenly fell limply to his side.

Like a Disillusionment Charm had just been lifted, Draco felt warmth spread through his entire body. Grinning widely, he began to dress quickly and with enthusiasm.

His mother was not the only person who had business to tend to in Diagon Alley.


End file.
